Page 48 of Rachel Weiss's Group Chat
Looking disappointed, the assistant waved her inside again. As soon as we were alone, Mom pounced, turning her head so fast to glare at me, I’m surprised she didn’t crick her neck.
“Tell me why. Why would you keep this from me? You know all I want is for you to be happy—”
“Happily wed,” I muttered.
“Speak up; don’t grumble!” Mom boomed. Before I could speak out, she barreled on. “What have I done to make you want tohurtme?”
“Mom! I don’t want to hurt you!”
Jane and the assistant stood before us once more, both staring at us with their mouths open.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, my face hot.
“This—um—this one is very flattering, I think.” The assistant presented Jane like a game show hostess.
It was a fussy lace concoction with a keyhole neckline.
“No,” Mom and I said together. They vanished without another word.
“Mom.” I kept my voice low in an attempt to set a good example for her. “Listen, the truth is—”
“The truth is what? That you hate me?” She never was one to follow an example.
“I don’t hate you! We broke up!”
Jane whipped the curtain open, the next gown hanging halfway off her, the assistant standing behind her with clips in hand.
“What?” Mom and Jane asked at once.
“We…” I cast an aggrieved eye at the assistant, who was attempting to do up the back of Jane’s dress, her face bright red. “Stephen and I broke up. There. Are you happy?”
“No!” Jane looked devastated. “Rachel, I’m so sorry.”
Mom’s nostrils flared. I had a sudden instinct to bolt for the door. (Why don’t I listen to my instincts? Why?)
“It’s okay. It… it wasn’t right. It just didn’t work out.”
Mom licked her lips, like a tiger preparing to feast on its prey. (Is that what tigers do? I don’t know, but I felt like a trembling antelope preparing to meet my maker.)
“You broke up?” Mom’s voice was deadly quiet. “After two months?”
“Um…” I considered telling her we’d been seeing each other since January, and then thought, on the whole, that might make things worse. “Yes?”
And then Mom did possibly the most embarrassing thing she could do: she burst into loud, wet tears.
“Ohhh. Ohhh!” she moaned, as though she’d just lost her entire family on theTitanic.
The assistant looked petrified and ran off, mumbling something about tea.
“Mom. Shhh.” Jane rushed to her side, rubbing her back.
“You wouldn’t have liked him anyway! Look—Jane is getting married! Doesn’t that make you happy?”
“What aboutyou, Rachel? I want you to get married too!” Mom sobbed.
“I will… someday. But I’m only—” I stopped myself, cursing silently. Why was I turning thirty this year? It nullified all my excuses for not being married/successful/a mom/etc. Getting old was truly very inconvenient.
Mom sobbed all the harder, no doubt realizing that it was onlyfive months to my birthday because I had to go and open my big mouth.
